


Desperation

by bluemoonmaverick



Series: Supposition [13]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemoonmaverick/pseuds/bluemoonmaverick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is part of a series that, while sticking strictly to canon, explores the theory that Sam and Jack were engaged in a clandestine romance off-screen from Season 6 onward.</p>
<p>This tag takes place immediately after the events of Heroes, Part 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperation

He knew it was a mistake the moment the words came out of his mouth. But she'd looked at him with those big blue eyes filled with - what? Regret? Desire? Fear? He wasn't sure, but it had been all he could do not to kiss her senseless right there in the middle of the SGC infirmary. So instead, he'd taken her into his arms, and it had been so long and felt so good. And as he'd buried his face in her neck and was overwhelmed with her scent, it brought back everything he'd been trying so hard to forget about how right they had been together.

"I could use a ride home," he said softly, when they finally broke apart.

She nodded, and he followed her out of the base, stopping only long enough for her to change into a skirt and blouse. They hadn't said a word on the way to his house, but when she pulled in his driveway and he got out of the car, she shut off the engine and walked into the house behind him.

He hadn't even closed the door completely when she was in his arms again, but this time she pressed the full length of her body against his and kissed him, her lips soft and wet on his mouth. For a split second, he was frozen with shock - he'd assumed that she would want to talk, but he'd never expected her do this. Immediately, the thoughts _this is wrong_ and _she's with someone else_ ran through his mind, but they were quickly silenced by the sheer force of overwhelming desire.

He may have consciously been able to repress his memories of being with her, but his body had not forgotten for one moment the effect she had on him. Within seconds he was rock hard and had her pressed to the wall, grinding his hips into hers. She moaned at the contact, meeting him thrust for thrust. With one hand, he held her face while he kissed her, his tongue moving in rhythm with his pelvis. With the other, he began lifting her shirt over her head. Within seconds it was on the floor, and he immediately pushed her bra up to expose her breasts. He palmed one with his hand, while he moved his lips to the other, sucking and rolling her nipple with his tongue.

She moaned again, and he felt it in his groin. He needed her, now, and based on her reaction to him, her need was equally urgent. She was already fumbling with his fly, but he brushed her hands away and undid it himself, pushing his pants and boxers down around his ankles. He moved his hands to her hips, up under her skirt, and quickly pulled her panties down and off. Pushing her skirt up, he cupped her six and lifted her up, using the wall as leverage.

By now, he was panting, mostly from desire but also from the strain on his injured abdomen. The wisdom of engaging in such activities in light of his wound was questionable at best, but he was far from logical thought at that point. He positioned himself at her entrance and risked a look at her face. She, too, was panting, and he saw a mixture of desire and apprehension written on her features.

He entered her in one swift move, and she yelped. Whether it was a cry of pain or pleasure, he couldn't be certain, though based on the way she wrapped her legs around him and began moving against him, he was fairly sure that she was as caught up in their actions as he. God, but she was warm and wet and tight, and he moaned as he began thrusting inside of her, each movement harder than the last. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was rapidly losing control, unable to slow down and allow her to catch up. All he could think was that he had to claim her completely. She was his, she had always been his, and she always would be his.

He'd known he was a dead man the moment that staff blast hit him. As he lay there dying, all he could think of was her. He had more than one regret over the course of his life, but the only thought going through his mind as his vision began to fade to black was that he would never be able to hold her again. But then he'd returned from the dead, and he'd realized that even though he was going to live, she still wasn't his to hold. Yet, inexplicably, here she was, joined to him now, body and soul.

More quickly than he thought possible at his age, he could feel the tension building unbearably in his groin, and he knew he was close. He continued to thrust into her relentlessly, and she moaned with each movement. They had had sex in almost every conceivable position over the course of their relationship, but he'd never been this rough or this fast. He had no idea if she liked it that way or not, and he knew he should have considered it long before that point. But it was too late now, as he felt himself coming, hard, wave after wave of ecstasy rippling through him.

As he began to slow his movements and come down from his high, he felt her tighten around him, and suddenly she threw her head back and cried out as she came. Though he was completely spent, he continued to move against her, allowing her to ride out her orgasm on his softening cock.

After, he held her for a long moment. He stayed inside of her with her legs wrapped around him and her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and waited for her to move or to say something, anything. "Hey," he finally said softly.

She looked up at him, and he felt a pain lance his heart at the sight of tears streaming down her face. "God, Sam, did I hurt you?" He eased out of her and set her on the ground, and she immediately began straightening her clothes.

"No," she said quietly, searching the floor for her things. "No, of course not."

He pulled his pants up and caught her arm as she turned toward the door. "You're leaving?"

She turned her head over her shoulder but refused to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I...I have to go."

"Sam..." he said and tried without success to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"I have to go, Jack. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have..." She chanced a look into his eyes, then quickly looked away, opening the door. "This was a mistake."

"Sam...please," he said again, but by then she was out the door and halfway to her car.

He watched her as she drove off, then slowly shut his front door. As he turned to move out of the entry, he noticed spots of blood dotting the marble floor. He lifted his shirt and saw that he was bleeding through his bandages. But whether it was from the wound made by the staff blast or the hole that Samantha Carter had just left in his heart, he couldn't be sure.


End file.
